Fleeting Relief
by whispering willow
Summary: On the night of Derek Hale's 21st birthday, he runs, like he always does. This time though, he runs straight into Dean Winchester, who isn't exactly having the best day of his life either. Derek / Dean one night stand...


Derek hates birthdays.

Derek hasn't always hated birthdays. He had spent sixteen years being surrounded by warmth and smiles, surrounded by excitement and the energy of people who loved him, surrounded by family, by his pack. Now, five miserable birthdays later, he spends them alone. He doesn't even give Laura a chance any more at making it something special. A few days before, he runs away from the apartment in whatever direction the Camaro takes him. Sometimes he goes north, sometimes as far south as the cash in his pocket will take him

This time, he goes west. Derek floors it onto I-80 and just drives. For twenty four hours, the only thing he stops for is when he needs gas, grabbing a coke and piss break before heading off again.

Eventually, somewhere in Nebraska, in the middle of nowhere, just between 'where the hell am I' and 'who the fuck cares', he pulls off the interstate. The sun has begun to set, casting a fiery orange glow across the sky and even though he will never admit it, its what makes him stop. He can't stand the way his heart wrenches when he thinks that everything the light is touching looks eerily like it has been set ablaze.

The rundown hotel he finds has an equally rundown bar attached at the front with a half full parking lot. Derek shrugs into the emptiness of his room once he's checked in, and figures, why the hell not. It's not like he can't get drunk, it just takes a whole hell of a lot of alcohol to break that miraculous biology of his. Besides, its the first time he gets to use his real license, if anyone even bothers to ask for it.

Three hours later, not only is he glad the bartender here apparently doesn't give two shits about the amount you drink as long as you're paying, but he also doesn't push after the initial 'you wanna talk' question that Derek only answers with a scowl. There's a couple dozen people hanging around, some coming and going, others have been here longer than him, and a particularly obnoxious group of older women who reek of desperation and hit 'ballsy drunk' about thirty minutes ago. They keep whispering about flirting with tall dark and handsome at the bar, and Derek does everything he can to look even more brooding and creepy than normal.

Unfortunately, it appears to have the opposite of its desired effect.

Just as one of the braver ones - or the drunkest - starts strutting her way towards the bar, towards an increasingly pissed off Derek, someone slides into the empty bar stool next to him with a heavy sigh. He's overwhelmed with the scent of pine and leather and the a subtle hint of grease that comes from spending time under the hood of a car. It's more intoxicating that the alcohol in his glass so he shakes his head and drowns the sensation with the bitter liquid.

The bartender, Gage - Derek had picked up at some point - is refilling his glass before he even sets it forward and talking to the man now occupying the space closest to Derek.

"Where's that brother of yours?" When he's finished with Derek's glass, gage sets two tumblers in front of the man next to him and fills them both with cheap whiskey.

He grabs one and drains it before the other is full. "Gone."

"Too bad, he at least kept the cougars entertained. You're gonna have to come up with another way to beat 'em off tonight."

"Man, fuck them."

"I'm pretty sure that's the idea." Gage shakes his head before wandering off down the bar.

Derek glances over at the man in tights jeans and leather jacket. His lips are pursed in an angry line, muscles in his jaw twitching with anger just beneath the surface. But his bright green eyes are lost, full of an empty sort of pain.

"I think we can work together to keep the wild women at bay." Derek finally says after another sip of his drink, not directly looking at him anymore.

"Oh?" He looks over at Derek, one eyebrow cocked, half interested.

Derek just scoots his bar stool a little closer so their legs touch and their elbows brush against one another. "Been trying to find a way to keep them off all night."

Amusement fills the man's green eyes for a moment while he laughs. "Whatever works. Dean Winchester." Dean starts to hold out his hand for Derek to shake, but drops it quickly in an attempt to keep up the facade of comfort.

"Derek Hale." Derek just nods and raises his glass.

Both men return to their drinks in silence, Derek keeping his ear out for the gaggle of women on the other side of the bar. Whenever one would come close, they would both reach out and brush something against the other. Nothing too intimate, but enough that the women either walked by with a huff, or simply turned on their heels. Dean and Derek would share an awkward laugh before turning back to their glasses.

Dean breaks first. "Hey man, you don't look like the local types, is that your Camaro outside with the New York plates?"

With a smile Derek didn't know he was still capable of, he nods.

Their off. They talk and they joke and they laugh. They share tales of cars they've loved and bars they've seen and odd balls they've met along the way. Dean promises to show Derek the Impala if he's still around in the morning, and Derek thinks that it may even be worth sticking around for. As the night goes on and the drinks keep coming, their conversation is a little fuzzy on the detail - but someone mentioned something about family.

Everything about Dean deflates almost as much as Derek does. Dean's eyes glaze over and the anger sets back in in his jaw. Derek's eyes wander off as he thinks he's not quite drunk enough for this, so downs two more glasses.

He realizes, when he looks back over, that he doesn't want this night to end like this, that if he doesn't say something that they will both just fade back into the haze of anger and self loathing.

Derek's wounds have at least had time to scab over, give him something to pick at, to be a different kind of pain. Dean's are still raw, gaping and open. Derek can smell how broken the man is.

With a deep breath, Derek tells him about Laura. He doesn't ask Dean to talk back, he just... goes. He tells Dean how much he hates and loves her all at once and how she and his Uncle who he hasn't seen in years are all he has left.

Dean starts to share bits and pieces, how it felt losing his mother, how his brother had left just that day, seemingly never to return if his brother had any say in the matter.

Neither share anything in great detail, but they both feel the mutual pain of loss.

Maybe its the alcohol, maybe its the way Dean is so relaxed next to him, or the way they're suddenly leaning into the conversation, but Derek doesn't stop. He mentions, very briefly, the fire, and the loss of his family.

Dean sighs when Derek seems to be done picking at his own wounds. It's frustrated and full of guilt.

"Damn man, I thought I had it bad just losing my mom and my brother suddenly walking out on me. That's.. it's not..."

Derek doesn't even think, he just reaches out to place a reassuring hand on Dean's.

"No. My family was taken from me. Your brother and your dad willingly walked away. It's not worth any less because of that. It's just different Dean."

Dean gives him a look as if Derek just punched him in the stomach but doesn't move away.

When Gage returns with a new bottle for both of them, Derek and Dean both wave him away. They've had more than enough to float them for quite a while. They ease away from painful topics, and back to easier ones, travels, places they've seen, and cars, again.

Around one a.m, Gage kicks them out. They're not the last ones to leave, but he's kicking everyone else out too, so they go willingly, arms wrapped around each others shoulders. They stumble a bit out the door, through the parking lot. Dean is insistent on showing Derek the Impala and all its glory. He just spent the entire afternoon giving her the tune up of her life in an attempt to not think of anything else, so she's in pristine condition to be shown off. Dean lifts the hood and does his best Vanna White showing off his handy work. Derek can't help the laugh at the wobbly gesture of arms.

Derek has no idea how much time they spent bent over the engine, poking and prodding in a haze. He hopes, when they stand and Dean slams the hood shut, that they didn't move anything out of place.

They stand there, at the hood of Dean's baby, and there doesn't seem to be anything else to be said between them. Derek's mouth quirks up a little at the edges, trying to grab at anything to stay in Dean's company. The man standing before him opens his mouth and takes a deep breath as if to say something, but shakes it away. Instead, he holds out his hand for Derek to shake.

The tiny little blip in his heart beat, the hitch in his breath, all the tells of a lie are there. Dean is saying good bye with the gesture, but it feels wrong.

Derek isn't sure when they went from a firm handshake, and a clasp on the arm, to standing too close and breathing in each others air. He remembers the look in Dean's eyes, the pleading of loneliness. Derek runs his tongue along his bottom lip before pulling it in between his teeth to hold himself back. He watches Dean's lips part as if to say something once more, and Derek knows. He knows he doesn't want to say good bye.

Derek doesn't want to say it either.

So he doesn't. He presses further, releasing Dean's hand from his so he can snake his fingers into soft brown hair and pull him in.

Dean comes oh so willingly.

Their kiss is anything but timid, a clash of lips and tongue and a fight for dominance. The burn of stubble against Derek's own grain a new sensation to categorize at a later time. He presses Dean back against the hood of the Impala, picking him up just enough to be sitting on the edge. Dean gives a weak growl of protest at being manhandled so easily, but when Derek rocks his hips forward between Dean's legs, hands clamped around a jean clad ass, all argument is lost in a needy moan.

"Oh fuck." Derek groans through clinched teeth when Dean bites down on the hard muscle at Derek's neck.

A flash of light and the obnoxious honk of a horn don't even pull them away from each other. "Get a room!" Is shouted as a car passes by, and all Derek can think is, 'that's a really excellent idea.'

Dean, apparently, agrees wholeheartedly. "Mines five feet away man."

Derek just nods, momentarily entertaining the idea of picking the other man up, to feel strong legs wrapped around his waist, but decides against it. They fumble towards the door, Dean unwilling to let go of Derek so much that he back up towards it, handing his key over so Derek can take care of the lock while he presses Dean against the solid wood.

Jackets are shed quite unceremoniously before the door is even shut all the way. It's Derek's turn to be shoved backwards, Dean pressing the bulge constrained by his jeans against Derek's hip. Derek's fingers fail miserably at trying to undo the buttons of Dean's shirt while his whole body reacts to the movement.

"Dean, do you.." Derek can't think of what the words he needs to say are because Dean's lips and teeth are doing unspeakable things to his mind against his neck.

"Yeah. Yes. Yes yes yes I do. Bed."

Giving up on the damned buttons, Derek just pulls both the flannel and Dean's undershirt up and over his head together before tugging his own shirt off. Dean guides him through the room, stopping at the first bed where his bag lays open. He reluctantly turns, having to dig rather hard through the contents. Derek takes the opportunity to run his hands across the hard muscles of the other man's back, sinking his blunt teeth into his shoulder, dragging them across and tugging lightly just at the top of Dean's spine. Dean's back snakes at the touch, a moan crossing his lips when before he finally turns, triumphant with a box and a bottle.

Derek has to take a deep breath to keep from letting his raw need show in a flash of bright blue through his eyes.

They're on the free bed, hands and lips and teeth all over one another, both men shucking their own pants and tossing them to the side. Derek has Dean pinned to the mattress, but he's not there without a fight. His protests and the way his body moves against Derek's just makes them both harder. Dean gets his hand down the front of Derek's underwear first, wrapping strong fingers around his hard cock. Derek's entire body tries to give out under the sensation and he lets his head slump in the crook of Dean's neck with a growl of his name.

Dean's pulse races in Derek's ears when he starts pumping. "God you're huge." Derek would laugh but he's too busy focusing on the tightening in his stomach, pleading with his own body to slow down, to wait, hold back.

He finally grabs Dean's wrist while he shakes his head. "Too much." Dean's chest shakes with laughter beneath him, but he stops all the same. When Derek picks his head up and their eyes meet again, Dean's face shifts from amused to something Derek would almost call concern.

Almost.

"Have you ever?"

Derek heard that one coming. He nods. "A long, long time ago." He can't swallow the knot that jumps from his chest to his throat no matter how hard he tries. Dean's eyes soften more and he cups Derek's cheek, running a rough, callused thumb over his skin. He leans into the touch, eyes pressed closed to hide his pain.

Nothing prepares him for the way Dean leans forward and takes his lips in a kiss then. Through the rough friction of stubble, there is a softness there. An understanding. They don't fight for who's in charge, they just comfort one another, for what, neither truly knows nor cares.

They kiss like they need it to breathe.

Derek and Dean are slower now, taking more time to lick and nip and moan at the way their skin feels sliding against each other. When the underwear is finally gone and their cocks come into contact both men's bodies jolt with the sensation. They rut and roll and move with one another, each exploring the others hard lines and sensitive areas.

Dean is busy flicking his tongue and raking his teeth around Derk's nipple, while Derek grabs for the bottle of lube. His hands are shaky and his vision blurry with the way Dean's hands are teasing just around the base of his cock, but he pushes through the haze towards his goal.

When Dean returns to Derek's neck, a litany of filthy things he wants to do pouring out of his perfect lips, Derek reaches around to slide one finger down between Dean's ass, letting him know exactly what he intends.

The man above him freezes, making Derek pause. Dean's heart races for a moment, breath caught in his chest. When he finally blinks and nods slowly, his entire body relaxes. Derek just smiles and presses the tip of his finger into Dean.

The man above him hisses at the contact. "Oh god, Derek. Yes." Dean moves himself further back against Derek's hand, bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth, head thrown back in pleasure.

Derek pushes into him, everything he wants and needs right fucking now wrapped up in the man begging for it, begging for him, just above him. He presses another finger in, bending his knuckles at just the right angle, pulling and stretching Dean open to get him ready.

"I'm going to need more than that for you buddy." And Derek has to stop, briefly, to allow himself to laugh. It feels good, rolling from his chest like that. He slowly adds a third finger, and as soon as Dean relaxes around him, he's relentless. Dean's entire upper body is slumped against Derek's chest, unable to hold himself up any longer while he bites Derek's shoulder between groans of 'fuck' and 'Derek' and 'more'.

Only when he feels Dean's heart rate change and his breathing start to become wracked through his lungs does Derek stop. He feels how close he is, but he doesn't want it to be over yet.

Derek removes his hand slowly, Dean grumbling about the loss. He catches the complaint on Dean's lips while they shift, Dean sitting back on his knees before Derek catches his legs and knocks him to his back, getting to his own knees between spread legs. He pauses, towering over him for a second, enjoying the way Dean is staring back up at him, the way his hand is stroking his own cock slowly, waiting. Derek tears into the box of condoms and slides one on, readying himself with a generous amount of thick lube before pulling Dean's legs up to settle around his own hips.

Dean hasn't broken eye contact, and Derek doesn't want him to. He wants to see exactly what he does to this man while he fucks him. When he presses the head of his cock just at Dean's entrance, he shudders.

For a brief, fleeting moment that tugs at his chest, Derek reconsiders. He's right there at the edge of something he doesn't think he deserves, something he knows he shouldn't be allowed to have, and all his body is telling him is more.

"Please..." Dean pleads beneath him, trying to press his own hips forward around Derek.

Derek pushes through the pain and sorrow into the tight hot pleasure of want and need and all encompassing warmth that is Dean.

There are no more words shared between them the rest of the night save the undeniable sounds of desire that escapes both their lips. The pleading to no longer feel the pains of emptiness, desperate to have their respective emotional chasms filled with something, anything, once again.

He fucks him slowly at first, every muscle in his body ready to give way any minute. They come to a steady rhythm once Dean is comfortable again, quickly going from slow readjustments to quick snaps of hips and cries of pleasure. Neither last long once Derek reaches down to pump Dean's cock, pulling from him an unintelligible string of something between words and moans and broken breathing. Dean digs his fingers into the skin of Derek's back, his entire body, arms legs and everything clamping down around him when he comes.

There's nothing Derek can do but fall off the cliff right after him, his own body wound tight suddenly freeing itself in his release, shaking as he comes hard. They lay, breathless and boneless against the bed, Derek and Dean lost with one another.

Later, when they're clean and rested, and the early pre dawn light informs them they have yet to sleep, Dean takes his time fucking Derek. He draws it out, sending Derek into a state of mind where nothing exists but this and now and Dean. There is only pleasure, no room for pain, no room for guilt, no room to hate himself while he's so completely wrapped up in another person.

* * *

Derek wakes first.

He needs to pee, but he doesn't want to move. He doesn't want to disturb the man sleeping soundly at his chest. He doesn't want to move the rough, worn, yet still so young just like Derek, naked body wrapped around him. If he moves him, if he wakes, they have to face the 'what now'. Derek can't take the questions that will come, that they will both have.

Dean moves a little in his arms, eyes only half opening towards Derek. "You know you look like Dr. Sexy?" Is all he mumbles before falling back against Derek's chest, fast asleep again.

Derek can only muster a sad smile.

Surely, they will both continue on their separate ways, whichever direction that happens to be for Dean. Something in his chest wants to offer to go with him though, to hop in his car and just go wherever the fuck this man wants to take him.

It's a childish idea though, and Derek knows it. He pushes that thought through, letting the pain of it settle in.

For several minutes he watches Dean sleep, letting his own breathing fall in line with the soft rise and fall of his chest. Finally, unable to control his bladder any longer, Derek quietly slides out from underneath Dean.

On his way back from the bathroom, he catches sight of the duffle bag lying open with half its contents strewn about the spare bed.

His heart catches in his throat as he gets closer, the salt and bullets and various hunting equipment mocking him and his complete stupidity. The one that wrenches through his heart, is the stake lying just at the edge of the bed. When he reaches for it, and can't get any further than a footway, he lets out a low growl at the mountain ash. It just serves to be another reminder, a reminder of how he really doesn't deserve things like this, like Dean, because they're never real.

The world is just slapping him in the face, telling him not so subtly that he is NOT allowed happiness, joy.

Dean stirs a little. Derek watches him resettle, looking back and forth between the man who had tried to put him back together, and the truth of who Dean really is lying open on the bed. It's digging at Derek's scabs and peeling them all open again, wounds of his past bleeding and painful in the morning light. Derek doesn't even try to reconcile the two. He doesn't dare.

He pulls his pants on, grabs his jacket and does what he does best.

Derek runs, and he doesn't ever look back.

* * *

When Dean first comes to in the late hours of morning, its to the sound of tires peeling out of the parking lot just outside his room. He lets himself stretch, the pleasant soreness of a long night of really great sex gives him a half cocked grin when he looks around for Derek.

He finds his shirt, still laying on the corner of the bed. Dean grabs it and presses it to his face, taking a deep breath. Nothing prepares him for the feeling of warmth that floods his body at the scent that is very much Derek.

Just as quickly as his smile spreads, it fades, when he realizes that Derek's shirt is the only thing left of him in the old hotel room.

Honestly, if you ask, he doesn't know what he had expected. He doesn't know how he had expected to feel, but it isn't this. It isn't the water in his eyes at the fleeting thought of, 'But I wanted so much more'. It isn't the lurch in his chest when he sits up, and looks out into the empty room, completely alone.

But he knew, in his heart and in the back of his head hidden behind all the pleasure in the hope, he has always known, that this is how it works. This is his life.

Because everyone always leaves Dean behind.


End file.
